Izzy
by OllieOfFreeOxen
Summary: Memories of a Petrelli childhood. Nathan and Peter convince their parents to get them a dog. As usual, Mr. Petrelli is as peachy as pie. Oneshot.


Izzy was a Goldendoodle. He had frizzy white hair that darkened to a light caramel in some spots. His eyes were big and black and his tongue was a never-ending source of slobber and love. As a puppy, he was about the size of a toaster, but nearly doubled it in the first few months, and was eventually six times that within a year. Though during those first few weeks, he had the whine to make an old man cry and the yelping bark that made you want to grab something and hug it tight. Cute was an understatement.

"Mommy, can we get a doggy? Please?" Peter had asked. It was two weeks after his sixth birthday and although he had a party and a new triple deluxe set of toy racecars, he had the habit of running off with his mouth even when no one was listening.

Nathan rolled his eyes. He was eleven and had asked that very same question at least a bajillion times.

Three weeks later, they were at pet store.

"You sure you want this one?" their father had asked, eying the aisle of cages. "Goldendoodle? What is that? What a mess of a dog! Listen boys, money's no issue here. Don't you want a high quality purebred? See these beagles here? They get real pretty once they grow up-- or here, looky here at these collies! Like Lassie, don't you know him? No? Never heard of Lassie? Boy, you kids!"

Little did he know that adding the word 'doodle' to the end of the word made the object twenty times more appealing to children. Peter walked two floor tiles at a time. He caught up to his brother, who was by his mother and the cashier. "What about Candy?" he suggested. "Like milk and caramel candies, like his fur, right?"

"That's stupid," said Nathan. "He's going to be named Fluffy or nothing at all!"

"You can't name a dog 'Nothing At All!'" cried Peter.

"You're such an idiot!"

"Mommy," Peter swung about her arm. "Mommy, what's the coolest name you've ever heard ever?"

Angela thought for a moment, and zipped up her purse. "The coolest name I've ever heard ever? Simple. Isidore," she said with a thin smile.

Peter looked at Nathan, who looked at Peter and shrugged. They agreed on the name, although through time and the childrens' speech habits, 'Isidore' was shortened to 'Is,' and eventually 'Izzy.' Mrs. Petrelli was granted with a very good companion, and the two bonded over kitchen scraps and T.V. Marathons. The boys were granted a responsibility they never had, as illustrated by their father's speech:

"Boys, this dog is not just another toy. It is an animal; a living, breathing thing. It needs love and attention and discipline. Take care of it right, and it'll be your best friend. Fail to do so, and it'll be your worst burden. It needs to be fed, watered, walked, washed, played with, and ah... Boys, the point is that your mother and I aren't gonna take care of it. You are. It's your responsibility now, and I'm trusting it with you. I don't want this dog messing up my house, chewing up my furniture. You boys are going to make sure he won't. Got it?"

Peter and Nathan nodded readily. At the moment, they had ever intention of staying true to their words.

* * *

"Nathan, can I play yet?"

Nathan threw the baseball out across the yard. Izzy chased the ball as it flew, but once it landed, she sniffed at it for a few seconds, then trotted back to Nathan.

"No, Izzy!" He staggered to where the ball lay. "You pick up the-- Listen! Izzy!" He whistled and the dog's eyes stopped following the bee. "You pick up the ball like this, see? And then you bring it back to me. Okay? So we're going to try this again--"

"Nathan, can I play yet?"

"No Pete, would you quit asking? I can't practice my pitch on you. You'll mess it up somehow."

"How do you know I'll mess it up? You don't even let me try!"

"I just know, Pete. You'll find some way to mess it up. I don't know how. Now, just sit there and be quiet while I teach Izzy how to fetch, alright?"

Peter swung his legs and watched patiently as Nathan threw the ball three more times at the dog, who was more interested in some invisible bug flying across the grass. Three times, Nathan walked, picked up the ball, and returned to his spot.

"Get you and your bat over here, Pete," he called with a growl and spat in the grass.

Peter ran over to the hitter's spot, as marked with a lack of grass, crouched down, and put his bat atop his shoulder.

Nathan sighed and said, "Now, I'm going to throw this real slow so you can hit it, okay? Don't expect this when you try out for real baseball." He threw a light pitch towards his brother, who hit it with a fast swing on the edge of the bat, so that it popped up into the air about fifteen feet and landed in Nathan's glove.

"Not bad," he said, and Peter beamed. "But you see, you've got a problem here with your position. You've got to tighten up, don't be so low to the ground, alright?" He walked over, adjusting an elbow or a knee bend here and there.

"Shouldn't my arms be more--?"

"Here and there," Nathan slid Peter's hands to the correct position. "Yeah-- Yup, just like that. That's fine right there. Now hold still, and I'll pitch you another." He backtracked to the pitcher's mound and from there gave Peter more direction before he threw the ball again.

More often that not, Peter's hits became better with every pitch, although about half of the time, he still missed the ball completely. It was frustrating of course, and Nathan was getting no practice done on his pitches for next season, but after a while, he didn't seem to mind his kid brother at all.

"NATHAN? PETER?"

Nathan jumped. He peered over the corner of the house, where his father's voice was roaring from. But then, hiding never did him any good. He knew that much.

"Y-yeah, Dad?"

"C'mere!"

Nathan and Peter toed their way meekly around the corner. They were only slightly surprised to see their father bent over, holding Izzy by the collar, who was busy watching a butterfly.

"I thought you were going to watch this damn dog? And where do I find him but peeing over my magnolias! Now, I don't care if he isn't house-trained or anything, he should already be landscape-trained. You boys know how much it takes to get this yard done? I'll be damned if this damn dog..." And so, it went with the shouting and the wagging of the finger. In those days, they felt terrible for it and made sure that if Izzy was ever outside, she never went near any bushes. Such things seemed important to them when they were that young.

* * *

Izzy's first party wasn't actually his party. Nathan and Peter's parents often held parties a few times a year. They were for their father's law firm, as he explained, for the winning of an important case or something. People would come in elegant dresses and bow-tie tuxedos and laughed and drank champagne while some hired musician would play nice music on their grand piano, which was never used otherwise. Nathan and Peter were always kept up in their rooms as the parties started far past their bedtimes. On the day of this first party, Izzy was up in Peter's room, curled up on Peter's bed, where he usually slept.

Their father had told them, "Make sure Izzy stays upstairs."

On the night of this first party, he was nowhere to be found. Peter rushed to Nathan's room, and Nathan rushed through the entire second floor, looking beneath ever bed and dresser, in every nook and cranny between the bookcases and behind the curtains. They checked the attic too, but with no luck.

"He has to be downstairs. Either that, or he ran away," swallowed Nathan, peering down the stairs to peek at the many guests arriving in formal wear. He looked at his own baby blue pajamas and cringed.

"Ran away?" cried Peter. "He can't have ran away! We need to make sure he's upstairs! If Daddy finds him, he'll... he'll..."

They both knew what their father would do. Many more occasions like that of the magnolias had come and gone. He hated that dog.

Nathan sneaked down to the top of the second staircase, which went straight down to the kitchen. He told Peter his plan of borrowing some steaks from the fridge to lure Izzy out. Since it was the kitchen, no guests should be around, and surely the caterers wouldn't say a word to their father.

"Shhhh!" he hissed back to Peter, and continued to toe his way down. The party seemed to be in full swing, and Nathan caught the scent of buttered crab cakes and marinara sauce.

Peter ran down the last few steps before his brother could hold him back. "Izzy!" he cried, and hugged the dog that sat around the edge of the kitchen. The dog panted and sat, wagging his tail as he waited for another guest to feed him a shrimp cocktail or something similar.

Apparently, the caterers had found somewhere else to do their business. There were two women and four men. The six of them sat on the kitchen floor, a champagne glass in each one's hand, and bottles in two of the men's. They didn't seem to notice the boys, but once Peter was down, hugging their newfound companion, the mouths opened wide.

"Arthur's kids?"

"How cute! Absolutely adorable!"

"What, has he been keeping 'em in the attic all this time?"

"Look, this one's got Angela's nose."

"No, both of 'em's got Angela's nose, but only this one's got his chin."

"Isn't there another?"

"No, only two. Peter and er..."

"Arthur's splittin' image!"

"Look at those locks! Gorgeous! I miss my dark hair."

"I miss your hair, too! Age is a pity."

"Yes, what a pity!"

"Peter!" Nathan whispered harshly, trying to get his brother to stop petting the dog. He himself felt like a deer stuck in headlights.

"I wish--"

"He speaks!"

"Shush Sue, the kid's trying to talk!"

"Shut your mouth!"

"Don't tell me to shut my mouth!"

After some time of this, they settled down, and the one man asked, "My dear boy, what is your name?"

Nathan got some shivers down the spine, but replied, "N-Nathan."

"Nathan! I knew it!"

"Shut up!"

The one man spoke again, "And I-- ah, we assume that your parents don't let you let you wander around their parties, for the obvious reasons of... bad influences, am I correct?" A few of them sniffled in laughter into their drinks. "But we promise not to tell them that you were ever here, is that alright?"

Nathan nodded, unsure, but the guests kept on talking. Peter was flustered bright red, and answered all of the questions with a few words each. They asked about him, what he liked to do, how he got so cute, and so on. They asked Nathan too, but he only nodded and shook his head, but since the older brother never wins in a cuteness contest, he didn't get the most attention. It didn't make him too mad.

"Hey," Nathan said a little too loud, after being a little mad that these people were keeping him. He was really curious though. "Are all of you lawyers?"

The kitchen was silent for a moment as they blinked at him. The piano finished its song, and suddenly, as if all at once, they turned towards each other and burst into laughter.

"God, could you even imagine?"

"Damn me to hell if I was ever a lawyer!"

"Hey, watch your language! They're just kids!"

Nathan and Peter returned to their bedrooms a few conversations later. Their parents never learned of their adventure in the kitchen, or at least never spoke of it if they did. Years later, they bought tuxedos and bow-ties for them both and made sure that they attended all the parties. They were formally introduced to the people they had found on the kitchen floor and never saw them as drunk as they were on that day. Unfortunately, Izzy always stayed upstairs.

* * *

"Off, Izzy, off! Izzy! Listen here, damn dog!"

Nathan stepped into the living room, slightly amused at Izzy laying on the leather love seat, lazily watching infomercials while his father, standing, used his voice and hand gestures to get the dog to move.

His father spotted him, and he spun around, pointing his finger. "I told you, you need to train this dog! I can't have him sitting in my chair! Hear me, no one sits in my chair! Get him off!"

Nodding, Nathan clapped his hands together and whistled. Izzy leaped off the chair and panted all the way to be rubbed and petted. "Dad, you just need to be a little nicer," he said. "Don't force him. He doesn't like it."

His father pressed his lips together in rage. His eyes were flaming and he yelled, "Get that damn dog out of my sight!"

Nathan took Izzy by the collar and sheepishly walked him upstairs. He was glad to do so, as when his father was angry, for any reason whatsoever, it was best not to be in range. By dinner time, he should be fine enough to look at indirectly.

* * *

"Send that damn dog off to the pound! If he doesn't listen, he's no use here!"

"Arthur, he's part of the family. You can't just send him away. Listen to me, if..."

It continued like this, and though going through concrete walls and another floor, arguments could clearly be heard from the upstairs bedrooms, although usually Mrs. Petrelli's voice needed some extra listening skills. What resulted was the one side of the argument, and it was always the side most difficult to understand anyway, although both sides were usually beyond Nathan and Peter's comprehension.

Nathan opened the door a crack and peeked into Peter's room. "Hey, Pete- what are you doing?"

"I'm covering Izzy's ears so he doesn't have to hear. Close the door," said Peter. He was doing just that, sitting Indian-style on his bed with Izzy laying in front of him. His tiny hands were over the dog's ears, while Peter seemed to be listening with failed disinterest.

He pulled the door shut. The shouts were muffled, but still clearly understood. "You're dumb," he told Peter. "Dogs can't even understand humans. And like he cares what Dad says about him anyway."

Peter responded with, "You don't know that. And what if he does know what Dad thinks about him and just chooses to act like a dog to make him mad?"

For once, Nathan laughed. "You silly pumpkin-eater. When did you stop calling him 'Daddy?'" he grimaced and climbed on top of the bed. He placed his own hands over Peter's ears. Peter seemed comfortable with it, but it gave Nathan more reason to listen to when it would stop.

"The lip of that boy! Eleven years old and thinks he can tell me that? Angela, if we don't act now, that boy'll be trouble."

"He's a boy, Arthur! And a good one, at that! Know what he wrote about in school for career week? Or don't you ever look twice at the refrigerator?"

"Yeah, I know! He wants to play for the Yankees! Tells me all the time! Yeah, Major League!"

"No, he didn't. He wrote about how he wanted to be a lawyer. How he wanted to help people who can't speak for themselves. How he wanted to be just like his father. Arthur..."

It was the first time Nathan had ever heard his mother rightfully win a shouting argument. Of course, she won the common sense fact-based fights all of the time, but never had she won one of those. Those usually ended in a heated climax until for no plausible reason whatsoever, they both stopped shouting and it was quiet. Following the results of whatever the argument was about, his father never gave in. Nathan believed that this was an admirable characteristic that made him just a great lawyer.

* * *

Izzy died after seven years, when Nathan was eighteen and Peter was thirteen. Peter found him on his father's love seat. He was still and looked like he was sleeping, but under closer inspection, he was not. There had been no sign of illness before, but the vets said something about a cancer that had gone unnoticed.

They buried him in the corner of the yard, in a patch of failed bean stalks, and planted marigolds over top. The funeral service was short, but sincere. Their father even said a few words of respect. Their mother cried for hours, and at seemingly random parts of the day when a certain television show would come on.

Two days afterward, Nathan left for college. He left for Harvard, in fact. He had made valedictorian and graduated with quite a few varsity letters. Peter was barely pulling Bs through junior high school and only made the school teams without being any kind of all-star, though he simply enjoyed being with his teammates on the bench. That summer, he got a job as a busboy at a local bistro and got fired for talking with the customers too much.

Later, they knew that on the day that Izzy died, their childhood died right along with him.

* * *

**A/N:** I wonder how Sylar would fair being the middle child.

... In all seriousness, it's funny how much a few lines of, "He's with Izzy now" and "He hated that dog" can spurt up a whole oneshot. Well, I had some fun with it. If you enjoyed it, I'll ask you to review. If you didn't, I'll ask you to review anyway, and I'm sorry because I did enjoy writing it. :)


End file.
